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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712564">We’re all a little bit crazy here.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObjectivlyOli/pseuds/ObjectivlyOli'>ObjectivlyOli</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Frickin' Found Family of the Galaxy. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Guardians of the Galaxy (Cartoon), Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Actually Drax doesnt need a hug, Adorable Groot (Marvel), Berhert, Child Abuse, Emetophobia, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Found Family, Gamora is a Great Girlfriend, Groot being a precious baby, Halfworld, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Peter Quill Needs a Hug, Peter is somehow the most messed up of them all, Rocket being a little shit, This story is gonna have so many tags, Yondu is a shitty dad in this, changes of POV, cus he doesn't like hugs, everyone has PTSD, like really, not beta read we die like men, sorry - Freeform, warning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:21:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712564</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObjectivlyOli/pseuds/ObjectivlyOli</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate take on the Guardians after the first film.<br/>All of them adjusting to being a family and everyone else's weird hold ups and oddly specific forms of PTSD.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Frickin' Found Family of the Galaxy. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786702</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Med Droids and Misunderstandings.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey, so this is the longest fic i've written to date, i'm gonna try and add all of what I have written in, which is like... a massive chunk, so we'll see how that goes.<br/>Also this is mainly written from Rocket and Peter's POV, sometimes switching to the others.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time any of them have a “Squishy” talk, it’s because of Rocket.</p>
<p>It’s because, in the last three weeks since stopping Ronan the Accuser, he has single handedly ruined all of their medical equipment.</p>
<p>It was one thing when he fucked around with spare parts.</p>
<p>It’s another that he took apart an entire med-droid just to make a fucking useless bomb and didn’t tell anyone.</p>
<p>Which is why, after going up against a band of locals with shockingly good ninja skills on Haris 2, Drax is bleeding out on the floor of the <em>Milano<em> and there's not even a fucking scanner to tell them how bad it is.</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>That is also why Peter Quill is currently yelling at him “-believe you’d do that! I mean, I know you like bombs but this is fucking stupid, this is just completely and utterly stupid and I don’t get it!”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I thought it’d make a good bomb, and I was right, you saw what it did? It took out that entire fucking square!”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter looked two seconds away from blowing in frustration.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket kind of hoped he did, he’d never seen a human do that, but he’s sure it would be insane.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Rocket.” Peter says and his tone is too high, so he takes a breath, and corrects it, he would be waving his hands, except they’re pressing into Drax’s stomach “Rocket, that's not okay, I get it, you like making things and i’ll get you more spare parts to make stuff, but we needed that droid, we’re still gonna need that droid, were mortal, we fall apart, we bleed, we need something to help put us back together, not blow us up more!”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I know that.” Rocket grits out.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter does wave his hands then and more blood spills onto the shoddy towel bandages they have going “Then why did you fucking take it apart!”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket crosses his arms “I DON’T KNOW!”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“DON’T SHOUT IN MY EAR!!” Peter screams back, glaring.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora steps in between them, her cool green gaze cutting through them “BOYS!”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket’s mouth snapped shut, as did Peters.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>They were both silent as Gamora gently picked Drax up “We arrived, in case you idiots didn’t notice.” she hissed, carrying the giant man out.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Groot tugged at Peter’s sleeve, standing on the table and looking up at him with wide yellow eyes “I am Groot?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter sighed heavily, picking up the little tree “Yeah, we are idiots.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Don’t include him in it, he’s just a kid.” Rocket grumbled, then followed after them, having to walk rather briskly to keep up.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It wasn’t until they arrived at the large building, Gamora stomping inside with her over sized bleeding charge, that Rocket realized where they were going.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Sterile, white walls and the scent of overly cleaned metal.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket froze on the steps of the hospital, staring at it in horror, then he turned to Peter “I can’t go in there.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter frowned, stepping closer “Rocket-”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“No, i’m serious I can’t-I can’t do that.” Rocket said, his tone pitching to frantic, arms coming to wrap around his stomach “I can’t go in there.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter sighed heavily “Rocket, come on, they’re not gonna flip, everyone knows you’re a guardian and you’re with me.” he reached down to either pat Rocket’s back or take his hands, the Racoon saw it all in slow motion “They’re not gonna-” Rocket bite the hand “Hey-OW shit!”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket drops away, onto all fours, his teeth barred and tasting like Terran blood, it makes him feel nauseous and he hates that, because he’s supposed to be tough, he’s not supposed to flinch.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter’s gripping his hand, face contorted in pain “Dude, what the hell?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I can’t go in there.” Rocket says raggedly “I can’t fucking go in there, if you make me i’ll blow your fucking brain outta your skull, Quill.” </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It’s not an empty threat, especially since a gun has magically migrated into his hand.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter raises his hand, one of which is bleeding down his arm and turning his blue sleeve to a dark red “Okay, shit, man, you don’t have to go in there, Jesus.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket’s hands faltered on the gun “I… you won’t… you won’t make me?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter looks at the building “Gamora has got Drax, so we can just wait out here, Groot probably shouldn’t see too much of the hospital either, bad for kids, ya know?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket nods, slowly putting the gun away, trying to take the words in, he understands why Quill says that, his own issues with hospitals, he wonders, if Peter had wanted him to come in so he would have a friend with him, so he wouldn’t be alone.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It feels shitty to realize Peter might be just as scared of hospitals as him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter ruffles a leaf on Groots head “Yeah, you don’t need to go in there.” he murmurs, then eyes fall back to Rocket, who’s got the tip of his tail in between his hands, worrying the fur nervously “Seriously though, did you have to bite me?” he grumbles, his hand still bleeding and now pressed between his arm and his side.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket looks to the ground, guilt clogging his throat, he hated feeling guilty, he fucking hated it, he’d rather just be pissed “Ya weren’t listening to me.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The little tree cocked his head “I am Groot?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket made a face “No, it wasn’t a sex thing, stars sake, Groot, not everything is.” he grumbled, letting his tail drop.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I am Groot.” the tree reminded, hands folding together, confused and curious.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket bristled, feeling his skin heat up “Okay so that candle was a sex thing, but that was one time! Once!”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter’s eyes went wide, nose wrinkling.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The tree smiled, goofy and sweet, he points at Peter “I am Groot?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket groans, shoulders hunching lower as he snarls “No, and he’s fucking listening you weirdo.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter’s unsure of what he just witnessed, nor does he want to ask about either the candle, or Rocket’s sex life, which might or might not have included grown up Groot (hint, it did not, but the Humie didn’t know that) “Okay, so… so you bit me cus I wasn’t listening to you?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yes.” Rocket said sharply, like that was completely reasonable, then he looked away “Well… partly.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I am Groot?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“No, again, I don’t have a biting kink you prevert.” Rocket sighed, shaking his head “Never shoulda told you what a kink was, always asking if this a kink, or that's a kink, honestly, you’re a nightmare kid.” he grumbled, but then he shifted on his feet, because he knew he was avoiding talking about this “But I bit ya cus you tried to pull me into the hospital and I don’t… I can’t go inside em, okay?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter nods, reaching down to grab Groots hand with his non bleeding one, guiding them over to a bench where they can wait “Okay, thats fine, I knew you freaked out last time, but I didn’t know why, so why didn’t ya just tell us?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket messes with the fur on his cheek, then settles next to them “Cus you were already mad.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“We wouldn’t have gotten more mad.” Peter said gently, looking down at Rocket with sad eyes.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket was tense where he sat, feet moving below in perfectly timed swings “I took apart the med-droid and then refused to join our injured teammate in the hospital that I put him in.” he said harshly, close to a cry.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“You didn’t shoot him.” Peter reminded him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rockets fingers clench, sharp nails digging into skin, and he can’t help but want to have something in them, something he can build or take apart “No, but I did take out the most immediate medical help available.” he can’t keep the anger out of his tone.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter shakes his head, thinks about the fact that not shooting a teammate is considered a good thing and not just your average everyday thing “God, we’re fucked up.” he murmured.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I just… I didn’t like knowing it was there.” Rocket admits, after a moment of silence.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter jerks slightly, seeming surprised “What?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“The med-droid.” Rocket murmured, his shoulders so tense he was almost shaking “I didn’t like knowing it was on the ship, watching us, waiting til we show a weakness or-”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“You know they aren’t sentient, right?” Peter cut in.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket bristled, ready to stand up and shoot the dickhead in the face  “I fucking know that, dipshit! Doesn’t mean they don’t freak me the fuck out.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter looked chagrined, scratching at his cheek, then he he sighed, looking out at the streets of Xandar and all it’s oblivious people, walking past them, not knowing they were Guardians of the freaking Galaxy “So… is it med-droids in particular or…?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I ruined all the medical equipment, remember?” Rocket groaned.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yeah.” Peter nods, so many credits lost on that.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket slammed a fist against the bench, glaring out at the pretty world “I hate it.” </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Okay.” Peter said, accepting that with only mild in trepidation “Can you tell me why?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I am Groot?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yeah, s’cus of that.” Rocket nodded to the twig, then translated, his words soft “Groot asked me if it was cus of the doctors.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Doctors… the ones who-” Peter waves at Rocket, then grimaces, like he knows that was kind of rude and offensive.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket hunches lower on the bench “Ones who made me.” he supplies, it’s not visible right then and there, but underneath his jacket theres mods and ports, places were people took things out and put new stuff in, pumped him full of drugs and anger “Can’t stand the fucking scent of it all, sterile and metal and plastic, fucking disgusting, revolting.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“So you destroyed it, cus it made you think of them.” Peter states, his eyes far off.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yeah.” Rocket grit out, and it didn’t feel like enough, so he stood up, pacing next to the bench Peter is sitting on “And now Drax’s is fucking dying cus I couldn’t get a good nights sleep with it’s fucking scanners going and-and the needles… why… jesus, I need a drink.” he started to turn towards the nearest bar.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter grabbed his arm, almost getting bitten again “No, you don’t, we’re gonna sit here, till Gamora comes out and tells us Drax is gonna be okay.” he said firmly, pulling them back onto the bench where Groot waited patiently “Then i’m going in and getting my hand wrapped up-thanks by the way-and then we’re gonna have a long fucking talk about how we can disable a med-droid to your liking while not actually destroying it.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I-what?” Rocket turned, slowly, not even minding that Peter’s still holding his arm, too focused on the fact that he was suggesting a genuine solution after he fucked up as badly as he did.<br/>
Peter smiled, letting his hand drop “You heard me.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket stares for a minute, takes in the honesty on Peter’s face, the lines around his eyes that deepen when he smiles, he’s so unbearable nice, this Humie, “You’re not… you’re not gonna kick me out?”<br/>
Peter seems shocked “Of course not, you’re team.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I almost killed Drax today.” Rocket reminded him darkly, his words coming out thick.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“You’re not the first one of us to do that, so don’t feel too bad.” Peter smiled, then patted his back “We’ll make it work, okay? You just gotta let us know when somethings going weird in your head, then we can try to help.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket stares for a minute, his throat clogged “You’re too nice, Quill, one day it’s gonna get you killed.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter grins and it’s just a touch too manic for it to be normal “Counting on it, lifes too long anywa-Oh! And theres Gamora~” his voices trails into sing song.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora walks closer “Apparently Drax is fine, it barely pierced his first hide, he just bleed a lot because it hit a capillary.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter jumped to his feet, then almost passed out, swaying around for a second before thrusting his hand towards her “I bet I lost more blood than him.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora scowled at him, grabbing his hand and trying not to look frantic as she dragged him away towards the hospital.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“You obviously didn’t.” Rocket called after him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter nodded, shouting over his shoulder “Hmm, but I bet this is more dangerous for me than it was for him!”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Much to Rockets horror and chagrin, it was worse.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Apparently humies are really susceptible to infections and Quill ended up needing a battery of tests and shots, grumbling the whole way and being over the top.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket couldn’t shake his words however, so he didn’t laugh.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Sooner or later, they’d all die.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Thats just what happened in this line of work, they’d get too close to a bad guy, or take a risk too big, or they’d fight and tear each other apart.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket hated how Peter had said it, however, because he sounded so damn cheerful and yeah, the Ravagers had weird things with death, but still, no one should be smiling when they talk about getting offed.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It sat with him, festering.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>But soon enough Quill was bandaged up, his tests negative, on his feet and being a fucking ass about it like usual.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>And his hand brushes past Rocket’s head as he walks away, just an offhand gesture, soft, like an apology.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It’s startling enough that Rocket forgets to worry.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora has to help him back to the <em>Milano<em> and the entire way Quill keeps commenting about her “Feeling up his fantastic bod.” until Drax’s repeated drags on his physique eventually calm him back to his normal, non hysterical self.</em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Groot insists on holding Rocket’s hand the entire walk back.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>He still feels bad.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>But Quill’s apologized, and Drax is fine, and the world ain’t ending today.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Just a little blurb set immediately after the first chapter :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They get a new med-droid the next day.</p>
<p>The first thing Peter does is take out it’s power source, then he shoves the needles into a nearby drawer and takes the bulb out of the scanner.</p>
<p>Rocket almost cries.</p>
<p>Peter smiles at him, but it’s not manic anymore, it’s gentle “Tell us next time, okay?” he asks, whisper soft.</p>
<p>Rocket nods, cus he doesn’t trust his words in that moment.</p>
<p>It’s the first time anyone whose not Groot, has done something like that for him, first time someones treated him like he has real feelings, and not just murderous ones.</p>
<p>Rocket sleeps with the bulb under his pillow, and the <em>Milano<em> feels a bit more like home.</em></em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Gamora goes for the throat.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title kind of says it all.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Interestingly, Rocket is not the only one who almost kills their teammate.</p>
<p>Gamora’s is just a little bit more intentional.</p>
<p>Well, unintentional, but still, Rocket didn’t know that Drax would get hurt, whereas Gamora had pressed her teeth over Quill’s neck and almost bit down and tore out his trachea.</p>
<p>It was complicated, living with mercenaries.</p>
<p>Gamora had been teaching Rocket to throw knives, and Peter got interested, which then led to sparring, which then led to hand to hand combat training.</p>
<p>All in all, it meant they got to spend more time together, which was always to Peter’s liking and most of the time to Gamora’s.</p>
<p>Peter would flip her and he’d smile as he offered a hand back up, asking if he hurt her.</p>
<p>Gamora never took the hand, because that would be showing weakness, but she felt like he wouldn’t judge even if she did.</p>
<p>Peter was just too… too soft for such un-pleasantries as kicking a downed opponent.</p>
<p>Even in fighting he pulled his punches, which would have annoyed her, if it weren’t for the reason why he never hit hard.</p>
<p>The one time Peter had bruised her, an accident where tripped and head butted her, he’d spent days trailing around like a lost puppy, offering ice packs and pain meds.</p>
<p>It hadn’t even been that painful.</p>
<p>But it had mattered to Peter, it mattered that he didn’t hurt her, so even if it pissed her off, she knew he wouldn’t pull punches in a real battle, and that he knew she could kill him if she wanted too.</p>
<p>So she let it slide.</p>
<p>It was amazing, all the things that Peter did that would have normally annoyed her, but coming from him… it had a different flavor, there was always a reason behind it, a meaning that was so pathetically caring and Terran that it tugged at her heart.</p>
<p>Perhaps, she’d been naive to allow him to be soft around her, no one lasted long around her, certainly not the soft ones.</p>
<p>And today…</p>
<p>Peter had managed to slam her to the mat, landing on top of her, and it wouldn’t have been a problem except they’d gone to the far edge and her head hit the metal ground and the world disappeared for a moment.</p>
<p>Gamora was only aware of a body pressing over hers.</p>
<p>There was no recall to how she’d gotten into this position, often on Titan there wasn’t time to figure that out.</p>
<p>Gamora rolled, trapping the mans hands and then diving for the kill.</p>
<p>No blade, no gun, she’d have to use what she could.</p>
<p>Her teeth had just grazed the pale neck, when she heard her name.</p>
<p>“Gamora?!”</p>
<p>It was a squeak, wholly undignified, the sound of prey about to be dispatched, pleading in that instant for mercy.</p>
<p>But it froze her to her core.</p>
<p>There was warmth to the skin, such human warmth, blood pulsing just beneath the skin, she could see stubble, golden hair, then when she lifted herself away, she could see those blue eyes that seemed to reflect a thousand emotions.</p>
<p>Gamora scrambled away, felt her voice voice rise to crack on his name “Peter?”</p>
<p>Peter sat up, a hand coming up to touch his neck, as if to make sure she hadn’t taken a bite out of it “Hey, ‘Mora, it’s fine-”</p>
<p>Gamora shook her head quickly, knees coming up to her chest “No, no, it’s not okay, it’s not-”</p>
<p>Peter skootched closer, a gentle smile coming up on her face “Mora, it’s okay, look-” he stretched his neck, like a dumbass just asking to get bite “-not hurt.”</p>
<p>Gamora feels her breath sticking in her lungs “I could have-”</p>
<p>“It’s okay.” Peter says, somehow firm and kind at the same time, a rather human mix that she hasn’t been able to recreate no matter how much she tries “Hows your head?” his eyes scrunch as he looks at her.</p>
<p>Gamora crosses her arms, almost alarmed by the change in direction “I am fine.”</p>
<p>“You just had a 190 pounds of Terran fall on you and knock your head into the metal, even with mods that’s gotta hurt.” Peter mumbled, smiling a little bit.</p>
<p>“It will heal.” Gamora sighed, pressing her fingers into the soft skin of her arm.</p>
<p>Peter leans slightly, trying to look at the back of her head, but she shifts to glare at him, he smiles sheepishly “Are you bleeding?”</p>
<p>Gamora looks away “No.”</p>
<p>“Have you checked?” Peter asked, biting his lip, this could be the time that she actually knocked him out for being nosy, you never know.</p>
<p>“No.</p>
<p>Peter sighed at her tone, eyebrows raising, his face still set with worry “Mora…”</p>
<p>“I almost killed you.” Gamora said, sharp as the blades she always carried, the panic in her tone not going unnoticed.</p>
<p>“Yeah, not the first time.” Peter shrugged.</p>
<p>Gamora punched his arm.</p>
<p>“Ow.” Peter grumbled, rubbing at his <em>(Only slightly)<em> smarting arm, then he leaned against her, his cheek rubbing her shoulder “Mora, I really don’t care, no offense, but you didn’t <em>actually<em> kill me, I trust you, so don’t beat yourself up about it.”</em></em></em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Gamora is silent for a long time, her eyes on the mats, then she murmured “I am… sorry, Peter, I don’t think i’m very good at being a friend.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“You’re doing just fine.” Peter reassured “Besides, I think we’re past being considered friends, I mean… ya did kiss me, like, three times.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Gamora took that in for a moment, a little smile on her face, then she sighed “I don’t think I am bleeding.” </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter smiled “Okay, thats good, concussion?”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Mods are already taking care of that.” Gamora explained, could feel a little whir of energy and movement along the nodes, just a small thing to say her skin was already healing up “I will be perfectly fine, is your throat okay?”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Yup, not even a scrape.” Peter, once again being an idiot, showed off his throat like a frightened gazelle.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Good.” Gamora sighed, standing up and out of his cuddling hold, her muscles flexing “I do not like the idea of you being hurt.” she added, tone more gentle.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter shuffled to his feet, dusting himself off with a red face “Maybe this isn’t a great time to bring this up, but like, if you ever do want to leave hickies on me or anything, than I would be more than happy with that.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Gamora shook her head, staring at him in amazement “You are appalling, Quill, truly appalling.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Yeah, you love it.” Peter grinned, not even the least bit ashamed, he slung and arm over her shoulder, walking them out of the training room.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“No.” Gamora says.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>But it lacks conviction and they both know it.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>So they smile.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Too many space burritos is suspicious</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wasn't super happy with how this chapter came out, but it's more of a set up for a later chapter, than a full chapter in and of itself, but hey, it's necessary to the plot, lol.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was nice living with other people.</p>
<p>Really, it wasn’t relaxing per say, because lets face it, Peter’s living with three renowned mercenaries and a tree kid, it’s not easy flying, but it’s <em>good.<em></em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It’s so good, that Peter’s honestly worried he’s gonna fuck it up somehow, because isn’t that what always happens?</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>So he does his best.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter keeps their weapons up to date, makes sure Rocket hasn’t taken apart any of the ships vital ship pieces, spars with Gamora so she doesn’t get cabin fever, tells Drax what the metaphors he’s using mean, and he sings to Groot when he has the time.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He’s trying really hard.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>And it’s not like they hate him, or want to eat him, like the Ravagers had, but Peter’s still terrified of fucking up.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It takes the others two months of living with him, for them to realizing he overstocks on food.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>In particular, he overstocked with 100 packages of Gunorian burritos and really, they tasted great, but it was impossible to eat more than one in a day, so a hundred for a ten day trip seemed like an absurd extreme.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>At first Rocket had snickered, asking if it was a humie thing.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter had almost panicked then and there, instead he decided to joke “Oh well, you never know when people are gonna snap and try to eat ya.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket choked on spit, then laughed “No shit?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yeah, Terran’s rare.” Peter smiled, hope it looked like one an not a grimace, although Rocket probably couldn’t tell the difference “Didn’t ya hear that guy in the prison say ‘<em>i’m gonna slather you in gunavian jelly<em>’ he wasn’t saying that as a joke, guys.”</em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Drax frowned, cocking his head “Does Terran taste good? I’ve never heard of your species being eaten before?”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter took a second to now panic, looking down at himself, then shrugged “I guess to aliens, but like, cannibalism is nasty so I don’t know.” he squeaked out.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Why would it be considered disgusting?” Drax asked, confused.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter grimaces “Ah well… it’s just-”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>It’s stupid, that's what it is, his heart beating too fast, it’s fucking stupid bullshit from his past and he hates it.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket snorts “I know it’s not <em>that<em> uncommon on your planet, Dingus the Destroyer, but in pretty much everywhere else, eating someone of your same species is considered taboo, plus, dead people normally carry infections.”</em></em></em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>That seemed to make sense to Drax because he nodded, eyes lighting up “Ah, my people are immune to such petty diseases.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter rubbed at his arm, feeling the phantom teeth scrape his skin, his chest feeling weirdly tight and heavy “Yeah, well, Terran’s are real susceptible to that shit, so we take it seriously.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>The others drop it.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>But Peter can’t.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Because they had given him curious looks, and yeah, they weren’t hungry looks, but they were <em>looks.<em></em></em></em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>It tugs at him anytime they argue and anytime they land themselves in trouble.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>If he fucks up bad enough, they can always eat him, that's what Yondu would say, all smirking and blue, his teeth sharp enough to promise pain.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Peter shudders.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He buys double the supplies he needs at the next drop.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>The others don’t ask, even when he has a nightmare and screams so loud it echoes around the ship and bounces back to him.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>It’s an unspoken thing, to not question Quill’s antics, his Walkman, his food, his <em>nightmares.<em></em></em></em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>He’s a Humie after all, they do weird shit.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A galaxies worth of regrets.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kind of bittersweet Drax chapter, I've never written from his perspective before, so this was really fun and new for me!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Drax hasn’t allowed anyone to fill the space in his heart where his family used to live.</p>
<p>It’s a hole, bottomless and full of despair, it drags the images of their bodies into his mind, small where they were slain, his daughter still holding her knife, fighting til the last.</p>
<p>Drax was proud of her for fighting.</p>
<p>But in his heart, he wished she would have fled, he wished they both would have, or that he’d been there, to fight and die with them.</p>
<p>Honor was a way of life, but it was also a way of death.</p>
<p>He’d spent so long in the emptiness inside him, the space where they would have laughed or argued, the place where he was still a father and a husband, that sometimes when he had come out of his daze, he would cry.</p>
<p>On his home planet, it was shameful to cry, unless it was over an unfairness.</p>
<p>Their deaths would forever be an unfairness, but he couldn’t shake the urge to never shed a tear, it only angered him further.</p>
<p>He had been so convinced that once he killed Ronan, once he righted that wrong, he would feel better.</p>
<p>And in some ways he did.</p>
<p>But it was not for killing the Accuser.</p>
<p>It was because, in those few days he’d known the Guardians, they reminded him of the other side of loss.</p>
<p>They reminded him of how Ovette had stood at the end of a battle, blood dripping off her skin and her eyes scanning the field for any straggler she might pick off, deadly as a Flerken, she picked off any that still lived while the others celebrated.</p>
<p>Drax would join her then, walking amidst the blood and corpses and they didn’t have to say a word, for they knew exactly what the other were thinking, they would chose to be here over anywhere else.<br/>She had loved battle as much as he, many times they fought back to back, defending and attacking.</p>
<p>They had been a true pair, compatible to the end.</p>
<p>Drax would see glimpses of her in the way Rocket fired weapons with a grin, and the sharpness of Gamora’s sword.</p>
<p>And, surprisingly, he would see her in Quill, when the human dived to protect Groot, the single minded decision bringing back memories of Ovette and how she would protect Kamaria, how, even in death, she had curled over their daughter, trying to keep her safe.</p>
<p>In the past, such memories would have brought him to his knees in grief.</p>
<p>But now, amongst people who have lost just as much, or never even had it to begin with, he feels a sense of comfort in the memories.</p>
<p>He will join them one day, his loves.</p>
<p>When a battle is finally too tough to survive, he will rise from it, cold as the stars and he will find them in the afterlife.</p>
<p>But he no longer yearns for that.</p>
<p>He sees them in the movements of his teammates, and he thinks that there is much he can still do here, many he can save from a similar fate.</p>
<p>Ovette and Kamaria are there in his mind, the happy memories bringing him comfort when things are bad.</p>
<p>He can smile for them, the same way he laughs for his teammates.</p>
<p>Because even with the pain, there is still beauty and joy to admire in the galaxy.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Drinking buddies.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter references child abuse, as in, Peter getting knocked around, so read at your own cautious, I will be adding that into the tags.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rocket has assumed that Peter had two brain cells when they first met.</p>
<p>He’s really proving to only have one.</p>
<p>Because not only did they go to a planet which was in Yondu's zone, but Peter thought it was a good idea to get drinks, and to boast wildly about saving the Galaxy.</p>
<p>Naturally, there are Ravagers there.</p>
<p>Rocket finds it fucking funny, because Peter immediately back tracks, then pretends he isn’t wearing their red flames, and then tries to claim he’s a <em>different<em> defector who saved the galaxy.<br/>All in all, the brawl is fucking hilarious, because both parties are too fucking drunk to be doing that shit.</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter throws up mid punch, one of the Ravagers slips in it and then spends a solid minute trying to get up while grumbling about how gross it is.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket sits back with a drink, enjoying the chaos.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Pretty much everyone else in the bar is watching too, because it’s not every day you watch Ravagers fight.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It takes a couple minutes for Rocket to remember that, yeah, he should probably be fighting them, cus, Peter is his friend, but at the same time his drunken idiot of a friend did start this shit by bragging.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Which is why he doesn’t intervene for the first couple of minutes.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Not until things have gone further than he should have let them get.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket is actually laughing when he realizes, and if he didn’t feel like shitty friend before, he would now.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Cus Peter’s not even fighting back now, they’d pressed him to the wall and his head hangs in defeat, a cut on his lip smearing his chin red.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Worse, Peter’s crying, big fat Terran tears that slid down his cheeks.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket feels a breath lodge in his throat, the laughter choking him, that’s his friend, his best friend and he was… he wasn’t helping him, he left him to deal with it on his own.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter cries out when a fist lands in his gut.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It’s not just people fucking around, this ain’t funny drunken Ravager shit, this is fucking cruel and Peter ain’t even fighting back.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket slips off the chair and barges towards them, swaying a little from how many drinks he’d had, he bites the first Ravager who tries to grab him and shoots the second with his gun.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>From there, it’s just downhill, fists flying, shots going.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peters on the floor of the grimy club, trying to push himself up, but his wrist is messed up, so with a cry, he falls again.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket fights his way to him, then covers him, screams as he takes down people, too many, soon enough their ain’t a lot of Ravagers left.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>But that's fine by Rocket, he’s got a temper, especially when it comes to people he fucking loves, even more so when there's guilt involved.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket shots one of the men on the ground, cus he groaned too loud, then he shots him again, because his body twitches and that's kind of funny and he’s fucked up and-</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter’s hand grips into his jacket, pulls himself up.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He’s smiling, cracked lip and bloody teeth, looking like some damned nightmare of Rocket’s, all half dead and reaching.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket helps him to stand up.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The bar is silent, the non-Ravager patrons staring at them, as if they expect Rocket to start shooting again, which, if they don’t fucking stop staring at him, he will “What are you looking at? Shows over, asshats.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter snorts against him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket can taste his blood in the air, and he grips hard onto Quill’s pants as the human tries to walk.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It ends up being damn near impossible, and they stop outside the bar, taking a moment to breath.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I’ll call ‘Mora, have her come help.” Rocket says softly, typing out a Com message explaining what happened “I’m… i’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“What? Don’t be, they were just being dicks, s’nothing new.” Peter sighed, leaning back against the wall.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket doesn’t find that reassuring “I laughed at ya.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter grins and it looks terrifying, too many teeth showing, too much light in his eyes “Also, not new.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket curls his lips “That’s fucked up.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yeah, a lot of my childhood was.” Peter told him cheerfully, just a touch too cheerfully to be believable “Ravagers aren’t really the kind of people who should raise a kid, Kraggles tried to protect me, but… 100 to two, kind of bad odds.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket looks at the ground, the compacted dirt, a couple weeds kicking up through it “Doesn’t mean that it wasn’t a shitty thing for <em>me<em> to do, m’supposed to be your friend, I shoulda stuck up for you.” he mumbled.</em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter’s hand falling onto his shoulder comes as a surprise “We’re both drunk, and if i’m being completely honest, which I won’t when i’m sober, it was kind of my fault.” he admitted, with a guilty smile “I knew there was a chance Ravagers could be here, but I just… I wanted to feel like I was having a normal night out and like I could enjoy it, ya know?”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket finds himself relaxing a little “It’s weird, being a responsible adult, yeah?”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter’s face breaks into a soft smile, eyes landing on Rocket with such warmth it would burn if it weren’t so loving “I thought I was the only one struggling with that.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“God, no.” Rocket grinned “Me and Groot used to fuck up the Galaxy, bar hopping, stealing, killing, I ain’t been responsible a day in my life, and now we gotta kid to take care of.” he whistles, shaking his head “Talk about not being the right kinda person to raise a kid.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“You aren’t doing that badly, I mean, he clearly loves you, and you’re nice to him and make sure he’s safe and taken care of.” Peter assured him, words slurring just a little “That's all good stuff, ya know!”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket’s ears pressed back, he kicked at the ground “Bare minimums.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter sighed, his hand sliding off Rocket’s shoulder “Better than what I had, and I’m guessing better than you had.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket lets that sit with him for a minute, considering the right way to say this “I had… a mom, once upon a time.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“No shit.” Peter said sarcastically.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket knocks against him, glaring “God, do you have to be such a dick when i’m trying to open up to ya?”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter smiled, dopey and wide eyed “Sorry, still kinda drunk.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket shook his head, then sighed, Humies, completely insufferable “She was an animal, never um… they never did experiments on her, or my siblings, so when I saw them again… I couldn’t… I couldn’t even talk to her, we didn’t speak the same language, she didn’t recognize me at all, so she ran, and I ran, and… she’s probably dead, now.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter’s face isn’t so cheerful anymore “Dude that's… i’m so sorry, that's really rough.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Nah, it’s… it’s better this way.” Rocket tried to say, wishing his voice didn’t crack “I can think and do, woulda just been an animal if it had been one of my siblings that they’d experimented on.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“That's still really awful.” Peter murmured, in a kind of horrified way that almost made Rocket laugh.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Instead he smiled weakly “That was the nicer part.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter’s brows dart up “Yikes.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Yeah.” Rocket agrees, trying not to remember the needles and metal and lab coats constantly swarming around him, he picks up a sound, knocking against Peter more firmly “Come on, up, ‘Mora ain’t gonna carry you if your ass is covered in dirt, so you better dust off, cus I think I hear her coming.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter swayed upwards, but did as he was told.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Sure enough, a moment later Gamora was rounding the corner, her shoulders squared, then relaxing when she saw they were both standing.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Although her frown at Peter’s bloody chin did not go unnoticed “Did you get into a fight?”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket realizes after a second that Peter wasn’t going to speak, his eyes wide like he was an Orloni caught in the headlights “He managed to attract the only Ravagers on this side of the port, yammering about fighting Ronan the Accuser and being awesome.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Gamoras jaw tightened and she raised an eyebrow at Peter “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” her tone wasn’t truly angry however.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter looked chagrined for a moment, but Rocket could see a smile tugging at his busted lip “I don’t supposed you’d be less pissed if I said Rocket didn’t intervene til the end?” he asked, eyes scrunching up.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Gamora turned on Rocket “What?”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” Rocket cried when he saw her stony glare “Humie was sloppy drunk fighting even drunker Ravagers, didn’t think they were doing any real harm til I saw the blood, I swear!”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Gamora tilted her chin up, scoffing “You’re drunk too.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Well, obviously, we came to a bar.” Peter snickered, shifting forward to lean against her.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Gamora glared, wrapping an arm around Peter and starting off at a punishing pace “You are both impossible!”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket followed them, laughing “No, we’re <em>rare<em>.”</em></em></em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter twisted so he could look at him, his eyes wide “Ohh! I like that!!”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“Course ya do… Star-Lord.” Rocket mocked.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter stared for a second, a grin slowly taking over his face “I can’t tell if you’re mocking me, or genuine, but I don’t care! You called me Star-Lord!” he cheered.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket shook his head, laughing a little “God, you are too easy.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“S’why ya like me.” Peter winked.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket fake gagged, nearly tripping as they changed terrain into the ship docking bay “You’re gross.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter beamed, his whole face taken up by the smile, shiny teeth showing “Ya like me.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“You are completely wrong on every level possible.” Rocket slurred as they climbed up the ramp to their ship.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Gamora slammed her fist into the control panel, opening the door to the <em>Milano<em> and shoving them both inside “Will you two shut up!” she shouted.</em></em></em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket looked at Peter, then they both burst out laughing.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Yeah, one last wild night, no responsibilities, no need to be an adult.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>They were fucking idiots tonight, and what a beautiful thing that was, Peter stumbled his way to his feet, pulling Rocket up with him.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket went to bed, feeling the best he’d felt in weeks.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Peter ended up needing a stitch in his lip, but that didn’t stop him from grinning the next morning when Rocket came out, hungover, his fur stuck up in all directions.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>It also helped his mood that Gamora had spent the night in his room, guarding over him so he didn’t choke on vomit and die.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Yeah, Peter thinks, maybe they should do it again, once or twice, or maybe even three times.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The secret language of fruits.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Had this idea because sometimes when my buddy would come over, i'd show him new fruits and shit, and when I went over to his place he'd show me funyuns and things like that, it was like a mutual sharing of food knowledge.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fruits started arriving six months after Xandar.</p>
<p>Gamora had received the drone, expensive thing that it was, and promptly opened it to stare at the beautiful fruit it held.</p>
<p>Smooth blue skin with green spikes lifting out of it, the inside was assured to be perfectly ripe and sweet, like the taste of summer on Zen Whoberi.</p>
<p>Gamora stared at it, for long enough she could almost imagine the atoms of it separating.</p>
<p>Peter’s face nestled onto her shoulder, looking at what she held, he frowned a little “Whats that?”</p>
<p>“Garal fruit.” Gamora murmured, digging a nail into the skin of it and peeling it back to reveal the green flesh underneath, little brown specks of seeds littered within “It’s from my home planet.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I thought…” Peter started, then trailed off, not wanting to say something rude.</p>
<p>Gamora took a tentative bite, sighing as the achingly familiar sweetness crossed her taste buds, cool and with a refreshing tartness “I haven’t been since my parents death, I had… almost forget it’s taste.” she murmured, then held it out to Peter.</p>
<p>Peter took it, eyes curious “How did you get it?” he took a bite, eyebrows shooting up at the flavor “That's fucking amazing.”</p>
<p>Gamora smiled, eyes on the fruit “I can only think of one person who would know it was my favorite.”</p>
<p>Peter spluttered “Wait, Nebula? What if she poisoned it!”</p>
<p>“I took a bite first, my mods would have told me if it was poisoned.” Gamora shrugged, taking another bite “Besides, she does not want to kill me, this is an offering.”</p>
<p>“What if she wants you to join her side?” Peter asked, tone lowering.</p>
<p>“And what pray tell, is her side?” Gamora asked, pulling her knife out to slice the rest, since the others would no doubt want to try it, she kept a large portion for herself, however, because it <em>had<em> been a gift “She abandoned Ronan, and from what I heard, she is on the hunt for Thanos himself.”</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“So she betrayed him?” Peter frowned, considering it.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora nodded, taking another bite and savoring it, closing her eyes to take it in “It would seem.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter was staring at her when she opened her eyes again, his face curious and a bit wary “Then why didn’t she call or-”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Nebula refuses to step down from a fight, she has always been competitive.” Gamora said tiredly, remembering years of complicated fighting and dancing around each other “When I deserted, she saw her chance to leave too, but she would not accept help from me, because she saw that as losing, she wants to prove herself.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“By what, sending you fruit?” Peter’s brows scrunched, but he snuck another small piece.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora smiled down at the fruit “By proving she has survived so far and is able to blend in.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“<em>Her<em>, blending in?” Peter’s voice was more than incredulous.</em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“She was able to buy this fruit, from a market, no less.” Gamora holds up a bit of the skin with the label of a market vendor “And she could afford a drone to send it with.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter stared at it for a moment “So… she’s on Zen Whoberi?”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Was, most likely she will be gone by now.” Gamora slide the fruit onto a tray and put her own into a bowl, planning to go sit by the viewport and enjoy it with a view of the nebulas and magellanic clouds passing by “But it was a message, to tell me how she was.” </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“What are we supposed to do about it?” Peter asked, sounding just a tad concerned.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Gamora looks at the drone and she finds a small smile playing at her lips “You need not worry about it.” she murmurs, looking at the cordinates input on the device “I will take care of it.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>***</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Nebula receives an entire drone full of Termian flower blossoms.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>The petals were edible, soft as they were crushed under her teeth, the taste fresh and sweet, with a hint of alcohol from the fermented nectar.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Nebula sat in the quiet of space, watching planets float by.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>She would return, one day, to her sisters side, and perhaps this time, instead of fighting, they could find something they had in common.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>In the dark of the universe, Nebula let herself hope to have a sister who didn’t hate her.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>***</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Gamora found herself smiling anytime the ship beeped to let them know another drone package had arrived.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>It had been fruits from Xarta, a bit bitter, no one but Drax truly enjoyed them, but hey, Gamora didn’t mind that.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>So she’d sent Torfa berries.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Next it was sweet squash from Berhert.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>All in all, it was the best communication they’d had in their entire lives, finally doing something that didn’t hurt either of them.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Gamora was just waiting for the day when instead of a package, Nebula herself would show up.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Then, they could try these fruits together.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Metal walls and Melodies.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was based off the fact that I listened to the Piña Colada song one too many times and realized how easily repetition could trigger my rage responses.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The reality of living in tight quarters with four other people, is not always a pleasant one.</p>
<p>Especially not if you don’t like being around other people.</p>
<p>In fact, Rockets not quite sure how they roped him into this, except that he genuinely thought it was a good idea at the time to move in with all of them.</p>
<p>But it is honestly so fucking annoying.</p>
<p>A minute alone? Unlikely since Peter always wanted to talk.</p>
<p>Hiding in the vents? Kid Groot will climb in and pull you out, because apparently you “Only hide in there when you’re sad.” and “You need to listen to this song of Quill’s, it’s ‘really good’ and I think you’d like it.”</p>
<p>It’s always the same damn song too, the one about fucking Piña Coladas.</p>
<p>Rocket didn’t think he could hate random words with no real meaning to them, but he fucking hates Piña Coladas.</p>
<p>Maybe that's why he fucks up the <em>Milano’s<em> speaker system, or maybe he actually needed that one wire for a different gun thingy.</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Either way, Peter was fucking pissed and insisted he fix it.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>When Rocket refused, Peter actually turned red he was so angry “Fine, fine, you wanna be a dick about it? Sure, go ahead, but see who fucking sticks around when you ruin all our stuff!”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It hurts, because it’s true, no one <em>will<em> want him if he’s awful like this, he tries to pretend it’s only anger that makes him turn and run.</em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket goes into the vents.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>For the first time in weeks, Groot doesn’t follow him.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>The space is hot and sweaty, the metal pressing in on either side, it feels like home in a way that itches uncomfortable at him.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket finds the farthest part of the ship, colder because it’s closer to space outside.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>He can lean into the metal, press his nose to it and almost taste the burnt smell of ozone and galaxy.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>This ships been through so many worlds, the only smells that stuck around are fire, metal and rock, like it had been put through a crucible and came out, unscathed.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>There's a thought, scratching at his brain.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket pushes it away, tries to enjoy the quiet that this space has, the welcome solitude.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>This is what he wanted, isn’t it?</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>So why does this feel so… unwanted.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket looks around at the metal walls and the burnt scents and he processes for a moment, where this reminded him of-</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>He shot out of the vents before he could even finish the thought.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket looks back, finds his breath stolen, and he can see scratches in the metal from his claws as he’d torn out.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>He’d done that on Half-world too.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>In the cages.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>The walls had been metal grating and the floor was cold and hard, they never gave him anything to sleep on, anywhere to pee, it was a crate, barely big enough for him, that had been his home for the first six months of his life.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>They only time he was allowed out of the cage was for testing.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Then they put him right back in, it would be clean then, smelling like the incinerators they used to destroy any biological matter left.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>He’d just been a thing to them, so they didn’t care if he hated the cage.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>They didn’t care if he smelled like piss and blood, they didn’t care if he scratched the grating until his nails chipped off and he left gouges in the metal.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>They didn’t care until he’d clawed the lock enough that it snapped.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Then they didn’t feel much, not with how many bullets he shoved through them, the bombs he blasted off, the missiles and knives and one time teeth, that he used to dispatch every single fucking one of them.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket opened all the crates, he freed all of the experiments and he thought they’d be as grateful as he would have been.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>But they weren’t sentient.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>No one else was.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Scared animals fled from cages, giving him a wide berth with scared eyes and bared fangs and for the first time in his life, Rocket realized how truly alone he was.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket had gotten out, he’d made it out, but he’d paid the price of knowledge and he’d never be able to forget what they did to him.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>The vents, a place he’d considered comforting, now looked as scary as any enemy fortress ever had.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>More so, because he’d been willing going in there for weeks.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket swallowed, tried not to get ill in the storage room he’d fallen into, it probably wouldn’t do to get vomit on all the stuff, because they didn’t incinerate things here, they didn’t cleanse their mistakes with fire.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>It makes him feel like a fucking monster, to realize that's what happened to the other patients, the ones who didn’t respond well to the treatments.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>They were burned, they were left as nothing but grease stains on metal, and here he was, crawling into vents and curling up there like a good little fucking pet, like an obedient experiment just waiting for the next round of needles and pain.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket does throw up.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>It mainly ends up on a pack of spare clothing, all in Quill’s size, naturally.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>He doesn’t feel too bad for that.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket sits on the ground, wiping at his mouth, trying to clean the bile and grittiness off with his paws, his eyes locked onto the vent.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>A week ago, if he’d thrown up on something, he would have burned it too.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket gets up, balling the shirt up and taking it to the laundry bin, feeling as much like a ghost as he does a cheat.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>How come he was the experiment that succeeded?</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>You didn’t<em>, his mind supplies. </em></em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>You were the biggest failure of them all, because you gained sentience and the only thing you learned, was that killing people was easier than being nice to them.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket makes a pit stop before he returns to the cabin, because if he’s being honest, he knows he’s going there.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>He feels ill and sad and as much as he’d been pissed about it earlier, he could use some company now, some cheer, some Peter, even with his fucking stupid Piña colada song.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>There's spare wires in a box and tools that will weld it in place, Rocket grabs them.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>It’s not like he’s saying he loves him, or anything, it’s just wires and tools, it’s nothing.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket shuffles into the cabin and his mouth is dry and he doesn’t want to do this, he doesn’t want to be a nice person.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Only Peter’s legs are sticking out of the console.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket could just turn around, he could leave, hide in his room until this panic went away.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>But he cares about them, and he doesn’t want to lose them, not over something stupid like this, he doesn’t just want to be angry anymore, he wants to be better, for himself, and for them.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>So he kicks a spare part on the ground, clearing his throat “Hey, Quill?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter stiffens, then he’s pulling his head free from the sound system, he barely spares the raccoon a second glance, because it’s been thirty minutes and he still can’t figure out whats wrong “What, you come to break more shit of mine?” he frowned.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket holds out the soldering gun and a wire, nodding to the sound system “It’s the third wire on the back of the bass section.” he mutters, because he isn’t good at apologies.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter takes the stuff, staring for a minute, appraising it “So you’re being helpful now?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket swallows, the words tumbling out “I got pissed cus Groot ain’t leaving me alone and neither are you, so I broke your stupid stereo so I could get a fucking minutes peace, but I found out I don’t like being in the vents.” he rambled, scratching at his ear and watching as Peter fixed the thing with less than a minutes work “So, new rule, i’m putting a lock on my door and if you bitches try to pick it, I will shoot you, okay?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter gives him a glance that’s between annoyed and understanding, packing up all his tools that he didn’t need “You could have just said that in the first place.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have seen ya turn red in anger.” Rocket grins, covering up his nerves with humor.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter glared “It wasn’t funny.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“It <em>kind of<em> was.” Rocket snickered.</em></em></em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Peter climbs out from under the console, dusting himself off and shaking his head “You’re a jerk.”</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>“I know.” Rocket says, then he bites the bullet and decides to be more squishy and open “But i’m trying, okay? This whole being nice thing is new to me.”</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Peter deflates, the anger going out, insecurity flooding in as he fiddles with the tool “Sorry, I know that, I just… I've never really had friends, so I get kind of over excited, I know I can be a bit much.” he smiles nervously.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>“It’s not you, really, I just… I need time to myself.” Rocket reassured.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>“I get that.” Peter nodded, but the embarrassed flush on his cheeks meant he probably didn’t, humans were almost annoyingly social “Hey, if you want, I have some locks you can use, they’re probably Groot proof.”</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket smiled, and it felt genuine “That’d be wonderful.”</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Not everyone likes hugs.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for not posting for a bit, this story is like 99 percent done, but my personal life got kind of crazy and I basically ended up a slug on my couch for two weeks.<br/>I'm gonna try and be more consistent, maybe not posting every night, but at least every week :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Out of all of their teammates, Drax seemed to be the most mellow.</p>
<p>
  <em>Seemed<em> to be.</em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>And, so long as you left him alone, weren’t unnecessarily rude or cruel to him or anyone he cared for, then there really wasn’t an issue.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Until the Hug incident™</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It was Peter, of course, who worked as the catalyst for Draxs breakdown.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Because Humie’s are touchy fucks and like cuddling their friends, which would’ve been fine, except Peter was 190 pounds of sheer enthusiasm and Drax doesn’t like hugs.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The second Peter’s arms closed around Drax, Rocket smelled trouble.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The big guy had stilled, jaw clenching, eyes far off as the Humie kept talking and hugging, a bit drunk and oblivious to the issue at hand.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>That is, until Drax bodily flung him away.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter hit the wall with a crack, sliding down the metal and slumping for a second, his eyes wide and frozen on the warrior.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora had her swords out in an instant.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Groot didn’t understand what was happening, so he started crying.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>There was a drawn out moment of contemplation, Drax panting and looking alarmed, Groot wailing, Gamora ready to attack.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Then Peter shot up a hand “I’m good!”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamoras stance eased slightly “Why did you do that.” she hissed at Drax “He’s <em>breakable<em>.”</em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter shouted from the ground “Hey! I’m perfectly-”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Gamora tossed a towel covered in engine grease at him and it clocked him square in the face “Be quiet.” she hissed.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket scooped up Groot, holding the little guy close to his chest and murmuring assurances as he watches this whole thing go down in flames.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“He touched me!” Drax yelled.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“So? You slap him on the back all the time!” Gamora growled back, arms crossed.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Drax threw up his arms “That is not a fully body touch, it was a trap, I reacted on instinct!”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“You should know by now, that you are a bad liar.” Gamora growled, but her blade dropped and she sheathed them to go help Peter up, checking his head for injuries “Next time speak, instead of acting, or I will not be so kind as to not kill you.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“I did not intend to hurt him.” Drax said firmly, but there seemed to be more to it than that “Nor would you be able to kill me even if you wanted too.” he tossed out, because he never knew when to stop challenging people.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“I could kill you with my eyes closed, but I won’t.” Gamora warned him, eyes narrowing “We follow the rules, no hurting our teammates, understood?”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter had managed to dust himself off at this point, stumbling over.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Drax felt ashamed to look him in the eyes “I am sorry.” he murmured after a moment.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter smiled lopsidedly at him “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have hugged ya, I didn’t ask-I just… you seemed like the kind who would like to hug.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Drax looked genuinely contrite at those words, his head hanging “I am-I <em>was<em>, but… it reminds me of my daughter, Kameria, it reminds me of how cold our last hug was… for a moment I was angry, because you get to live and be warm, while she is buried in the ground.”</em></em></em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“Shit man, that’s… i’ll ask next time, I swear.” Peter winced.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Drax shakes his head “It is not your fault the Kree killed her, nor were my actions today acceptable, Gamora is right, we have these rules for a reason, I was overtaken by grief and anger and I acted brashly.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“I get it, I mean, when I think of losing my mom, i’m not always so interested in being held then either, so I really do get it.” Peter murmured, setting a careful hand on Draxs shoulder “Just maybe don’t punt me into a wall next time, okay?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Drax smiles, a sad sight that makes him look all the more grief stricken “I will endeavor to do so.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“Cool, now, i’m gonna go ice my whole body-” Peter turned and flashed Gamora a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows “Gamora, you wanna help me?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Gamora shook her head, standing up “Will you ever stop flirting?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“Once you tell me you don’t like it.” Peter quipped.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Gamora sighed like she was incredibly worn, but her lips twitched and she didn't say anything, so Rocket knew she did like it.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>The pair disappeared.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Groot was still clutching into Rocket’s fur “I am Groot?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“No, it’s okay, it was just a little fight.” Rocket assured him, stroking a hand down his back.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>The little tree looked up at him “I am Groot?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“Peter was fine enough to flirt, he’ll be okay.” Rocket smiled, turning to the controls “And before ya ask, no, things ain’t going bad, we just hit a snag, okay?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“I am Groot.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket let his head tilt so his cheek pressed to the tree “I know, I like it here too, twig.” he whispers.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>***</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>It takes the better part of an hour before Peter and Gamora come back out.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>He doesn’t <em>look<em> bruised, but he is limping a little and he seems more subdued than normal.</em></em></em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Peter offers to takes the night shift driving, which means he wants time to think, or he and Gamora got into a fight, either option is likely given the nights trajectory.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Everyone filters out eventually, everyone except for Drax.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>It’s expected when the large warrior sits down in the co-pilot seat, his blue gaze focused on the stares “How are your wounds healing?”</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>“Slowly, but that's normal.” Peter grumbles, but then he bites his lip and adds “I really am sorry for hugging you, didn’t realize it would… <em>ya know<em>.”</em></em></em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>“It is not your fault.” Drax sighed, turning to look at his human friend, he could see what Gamora had meant, by ‘<em>he is breakable<em>’, because there's something ever so delicate on Peter’s face, a softness that so easily does bruise, just not in physical way “You do not need to take blame for my actions, I could have told you sooner, I could have pushed you away more gently.”</em></em></em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Peter’s cheeks splotched red and he lets out a huff “Oh, it’s-i’m fine, really, it’s… i’m just sad that I upset you.”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Drax snorted, looking back at the stars “You do not control my emotions, Quill.”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“Right, yeah.” Peter grumbled, but then he turned and there was the curiosity in his eyes, the look that reminded Drax so painfully of Kamaria, the human bit his lip, then asked “What… what was she like?”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“She was like fire, a dangerous dancing thing, so magical and warm, but only those she loved could get close, the others she would <em>burn<em>, she took after me and Ovette, a true fighter.” Drax murmured, his words like wind, just barely brushing past “I miss her with every breath in my lungs.” </em></em></em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>“She sounds wonderful, Drax.” Peter said thickly.</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>“Kamaria and Ovette were all that mattered to me in this world, more than any victory, more than honor.” Drax leans back against the seat, his eyes focused only on the sky before them “I killed across the star ways trying to find something that would fill my soul once more, but no matter how many people I killed, I could not bring them back.”</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>“Nothing ever does bring em back.” Peter sighed heavily, his fists clenching “I used my Walkman to cope, keeping a hold on a piece of my old life.”</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>Draxs brows scrunch, his head tilting to look at Peter thoughtfully “How old were you, when the Ravagers kidnapped you?”</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>Peter thought about it for a second, ticking off his fingers with a frown “I think I was eight? I’m <em>pretty sure<em> I was eight.” </em></em></em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>“Kamaria was nine.” Drax nodded, his mind pulling up memories of her waving her knives around, grinning at him, so young and innocent of the pain that would come, to know Quill was even younger is disheartening “That is far too young for one to be taken, either by death or space pirates.”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>“Yeah, it kind of ruined my childhood, have to grow up fast when life is dangerous.” Peter agreed casually, steering them through a small asteroid field.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Drax watches him “In your next life, Quill, I hope you find the peace we both lack in this one.”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Peter blinked, looking at Draxs serious face, the lines of it, and he has no doubt that he means every word of it “That’s… morbidly nice, man, thanks.”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Drax smiles and it’s something between a snarl and beam “Anytime.”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Body Mods and Bonding.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I love writing Peter and Rocket bickering like siblings, because I genuinely can't have a conversation with my sister without insulting her at least a little bit, so it's familiar for me :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rocket and Gamora have an unspoken agreement, no, not like Quill and Gamoras unspoken thing, <em>god no<em>, he don’t like humies, even if that ain’t what she is, she’s still humie shaped.</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>No, it’s companionable agreement between Modified beings.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora pulls Rocket aside after dinner one night, her tone soft enough the others don’t hear what she says “My eye modification is malfunctioning.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket barely pauses before saying “Long vision or short vision?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Long.” Gamora says, blinking slowly, like she’s testing it “My left eye blurs.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Got it, meet up in twenty?” Rocket offered, thinking of the equipment he’d need, the parts he’d need to steal and gather, and also, the excuse he’d need to give, which was none, because he doesn’t owe the other shit for an explanation.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora lets out a small sigh, relief on her face “I’ll say goodnight, meet in your room?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket nods, darting off.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It’s something they’ve barely talked about.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>How do you talk about this shit? I mean, it's basic knowledge that mods needed to be up kept, but like… actually talking about their weird exercise of trust? Kind of hard.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket had started this <em>thing<em>.</em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>One of the ports on his back sparked anytime they passed a solar storm and it was starting to get on his fucking nerves, not to mention the burning of several shirts and the skin around the port.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Groot couldn’t help him fix it anymore, he was too young and klutzy, he’d probably fuck things up worse, much as Rocket loved him.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Quill would give him those big blue pity eyes, and Drax had broken eight cups on accident this week because he forgot how strong he was on a regular basis, so they were both big no’s.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Which left Gamora.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket knew it was the right decision when he asked her “My back ports sparking, you know mechanics?” and she’d gotten a kit without words, unpacking it and telling him to explain how the problem started.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Turns out, she used to do this with her sister, fixing each other up when they could.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>She was <em>good.<em></em></em></em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>It barely even hurt and when she was done, it was not only not sparking, but she’d oiled it and the others, so now they didn’t grind when he rolled his shoulders.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>So it became a thing.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket would tell her if something of his was fucking up, and she’d tell him if something of hers was fucking up.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Easy, silent, not something that anyone else needed to know about.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Especially that time when he had to open up her fucking hand to get one of her fingers to stop cramping and flipping everyone off.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>That had been an unpleasant operation.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Too much blood, Rocket had almost backed out because he was scared he was hurting her, but she’d been calm as ever, telling him which screws needed to be loosened to adjust the wiring and fix the problems.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>She scared him sometimes, how normal she found this.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>At least Rocket knew it was fucked up to be taken apart, she seemed to think it’s a bonding experience.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>And while that's nice that she trusts him, it’s fucking terrifying, cus no ones trusted him like this before, and he’s really not qualified or stable enough for that, or at least, he don’t feel like it.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Tonight is a simple fix.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>A circuit that's degrading in her frontal plate, he’s got fifty of the right kind, some for his own mods.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Gamora has a towel over her lap, so the blood will drip there and not on the ground.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>They learned the hard way that the floors of the <em>Milano<em> are fucking impossible to clean and that it’s far easier to just ruin a towel and toss it.</em></em></em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket makes the cut, exposing the bone and metal plating, he works quick.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>It’s different, because he’s not a doctor, he knows how it feels to be cut open, hell, Rockets been fixing his own mods for as long as he can really remember, it’s almost second nature.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Gamora is still and patient.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket tries not to think of being the perfect experiment, wonders if she was taken apart like he was, wonders if it’s easier now that it’s him doing it, god knows it was easier when she was fixing his port.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He’d been made to self-sustain, he’d also been made to self-destruct.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>It was interesting how a couple years with a talking tree had changed things, how a couple months with the biggest idiots in the Galaxy changed everything.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He’d been willing to die for this stupid galaxy, he’d been willing to die for them, but he fought hard to survive because he deserved too.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket wonders if it’s as hard for Gamora as it is for him.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He thinks it might be.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket can remember her face when she told him she’d almost killed Quill in training, the horror, the disgust, she called herself a monster.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He doesn’t think she is one.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>She says the same about him.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Perhaps they’re not so different after all.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>***</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Quill is different, however.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Which is why him walking in on their little pseudo-surgery was probably not the best outcome they could hope for.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Peter stared, looking between Rockets hand and the small tools and Gamoras face, where the skin of her forehead was peeled back to reveal circuitry and green blood “What the fuck!” he yelped, then he notices the wiring mixed in with bone and skin.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He goes almost amusingly pale colored.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Then Peter throws up into the waste basket, which, thank the stars, has a plastic liner in it.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket just rolls his eyes, carrying on, he doesn’t want Gamora to bleed or hurt anymore than necessary.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>When Peter comes back up for air, looking sweaty and scared, Gamora raises a hand to stop him from doing anything stupid “Rocket is fixing one of my vision circuits, please do not interrupt.” she says, careful not to move her face too much.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Peter looks ill when he sees the mods, but he takes a breath, standing shakily “Okay, I won’t.”</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He sits on the bed, watches Rocket flit around, grumbling about wires needing a refresh soon and organic discharge that would be a pain in the ass to clean if it got on the circuit.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>It’s a surprisingly calm scene.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Peter watches and he’s quiet, because he knows when he’s really not supposed to talk, he’d learned the hard way when Yondu arrowed him in the ass for interrupting a negotiation.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket pieces Gamora back together, humming, then stitches the skin closed, so neat it’s almost invisible along the metal line of her forehead.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Peter waits until Gamoras using alcohol swabs to clean her skin to ask “Is this… is this like a regular thing?”</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>“Mods need upkeep, Peter, you know that.” Rocket grumbled, putting shit away.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Peter shakes his head, gesturing between them “No, I meant like, you guys, fixing each other up, is that a regular thing?”</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Gamora nodded, setting aside the alcohol swabs “Since we became Guardians, yes, it’s not like we have a bio-mechanical engineer on board with us to help out.”</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket pinched her arm, but only lightly “Hey, I am a bio mechanical engineer!”</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Gamora rolled her eyes, but there was a fond smile on her face “Apologies, we have no <em>other<em> bio-mechanists, so we fix each other up.” she corrected.</em></em></em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>“Oh.” Peter murmured, wondering how he missed out on this “Um, if you guys ever need, I’m pretty good with Bio-mech, Yondu taught me a bit so I could keep up his Yaka controller if he was ever unconscious and it needed repair.”</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Rocket gives him a sharp grin “No offense, but with where your hands have been I don’t want them anywhere near my-”</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Gamora smiled, slapping a hand over Rockets face “That’s very nice of you, Peter, I might take you up on it at some poi-OW!” she cut off when Rockets surprisingly sharp teeth sunk into her hand.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Rocket grinned, his teeth stained lightly green “Serves ya right for trying ta silence me.” he grumbled, but then tossed her a roll of gauze, an apology in it’s own right.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Gamora glared as she wrapped up her fingers.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>“Rocket, we had a deal, remember?” Peter sighed, feeling a headache coming on “No biting people unless they try to kill you.”</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>“Or offend me.” Rocket adds.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Peter put his hands on his hips, glaring down at him as best he could while still nauseous “We never agreed on that amendment.”</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Rocket waves his hands “We NevER aGreeD oN TaHT AmEndmeNT.” he mocked, doing his best Terran accent, which made him sound like he had two nostrils full of snot.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Peter frowned “I do not sound like that.”</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>“Do too.” Rocket crowed, stuffing tools back into the kit without much care.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Peter opens his mouth, completely indignant “Do not!”</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Rocket snorted “Do too and if ya argue you’re just gonna prove it all the more with your nasally bullshit!”</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Peter groaned, slamming his fist into the wall.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Gamora fought the urge to throttle both of them, closing his eyes and barging past them with a growl of “You’re both idiots.”</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>“Yeah, but we’re <em>your<em> idiots!” Peter called after her with a grin.</em></em></em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Rocket threw a screwdriver at his head “No calling me anyone's idiot but my own, Quill, new rule.”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Peter left the room with a cry of “Oh come on, there can’t be a rule for everything!”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. A Rule For Everything.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the alternate name for this chapter was Rules and Rhododendrons, lol.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Actually, there is.</p>
<p>Well, more accurately, there are three rules that supersede the rest of the rules, put in place during their first month of living together, in descending order from most important to least, they are:</p>
<p>1, You are not allowed to kill/hurt your teammates.</p>
<p>2, No one is to steal/break any personal artifacts or pictures that are important to someone on the team (This also includes verbally besmirching dead relatives, <em>Rocket<em>.)</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>And lastly, 3, if you say “Don’t ask.” then no one can pressure you for information unless their lives are at stake.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Now, those are just the basic rules.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>But there are still exceptions.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Because even though Groots never said “Don’t ask.” when he tries to talk to plants on every planet they’ve landed on, they certainly get the picture.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It’s a Groot thing and it might be private and Jesus, no one wants to upset the kid, not over something that could be as personal as trying to bring back his dead species, which, might be the case, but none of them have dared ask either him or Rocket, plus, it’s been months, so now it would just be weird to ask.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Hence, no asking Groot about the plants, becomes the fourth, unspoken rule.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Even more so when the sentient tree starts collecting plants to line the <em>Milano’s<em> shelves with, the little pots glued in place, watered regularly by the vining teen.</em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>It’s kind of sweet, in a weird, Groot way.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Plus, the plants did liven up the place and Groot took good care of them.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>So it didn’t really matter.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>***</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Turns out it did.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Because the water on the <em>Milano<em> got contaminated one day, and that was fine because no one drank it.</em></em></em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>But Groot had used it to water a plant.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>And it died.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>And now Groot was sitting in the cockpit holding it’s shriveled remains and wailing his poor wooden heart out like this had been his child.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Which, Peter thinks, the plant kind of was to him.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Groot didn’t have any living relatives, any members of his species left, and they’d all watched how lovingly he’d watered the plants, how he’d whisper to them “I am Groot.” and brush their leaves free of dust.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>They were special to him, like the Walkman was special to Peter.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>It took two hours to calm the kid down, he almost dehydrated himself by crying so much, his branches twined around the plant, but he couldn’t do anything to bring it back, so in the end, he handed it off to Rocket with a cry of anguish.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter held him until he stopped crying, Drax awkwardly patted his back, Rocket curled around him once he’d gotten rid of the remains.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Gamora… Gamora sang.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>It was just a little thing, just a couple songs of Quills, she was driving and couldn’t exactly stop to cuddle the tree, so she thought he might enjoy it.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Groot sniffled, producing a flower for her.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Gamora smiled at him, gently plucking it and then tucking it behind her ear “I love it, Groot, thank you.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>It smelled like honeysuckle and cherry.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Groots grief turned to calm as the day turned to evening, he was more subdued, softly growing them flowers, as if he kept needing to remind the other Guardians that he loved them.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>From then on, he always checked his water before he watered the plants.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>And still no one asks what they mean to him.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>They don’t need too know now.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I got really into plants last summer, but due to a bout of depression most of them ended up dying, I only just got back into them, caring for my surviving babies and adding some more to the bunch, so this was written a bit to assuage my guilt over killing them because I forgot watering was a thing (I have the same problem with myself, I drink coffee in the morning and sometimes it'll be like five pm and i'll realize I literally haven't had any water all day, oops.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Bombs and Contrition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Haven't updated in a hot minute, so have some sad Rocket stuff.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One of those most important rules, is that you don’t kill your teammates <em>while they’re sleeping.<em></em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Now, Peter kept insisting that it be “Don’t kill your teammates.” full stop, but most everyone else seemed more lax on that part, still, it got written as “Don’t hurt your teammates.” which seemed a bit extreme to Rocket.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>But then again, they were all kinds of fucked up, so it was probably a normal thing to request.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Sometimes it was Gamora who slipped, like when she almost took out Peter’s throat, or tried to turn Rocket into a pincushion because he interrupted her midnight snacking.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Sometimes it’s Drax, taking a clap on the back too far and popping a rib or two on his companions.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Hell, Groots done it once or twice, he’s wrapped vines around someones’s throat, or grabbed a knife when it wasn’t called for.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Unknown to the rest of the team, it was Rocket who almost killed them the most.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It would happen at night.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>As most bad things do.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>There would be dreams, memories of a cage and a collar, of needles that sat under his skin that he couldn’t rip out, a sensation of being unmade and then remade, his bones grafted with metal, his skin burned and hardened.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Sometimes, Rocket wakes up shaking, he claws at the ports in his skin, tries to pull at wiring that’s no longer above skin.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He never can sleep again on those nights.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>So he builds.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket sometimes forgets that he doesn’t want to kill his teammates as he works, he’s feverish with the need to be in control, he makes bombs, then disables them, he’s angry at them sometimes, but he doesn’t think it’s their fault.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The other Guardians didn’t do anything wrong.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>They didn’t turn him into this, s’not their fault he’s a monster.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>But sometimes it’s hard to see that, like tonight, where his fingers frantically work over wires and plugs, detonators and timers, and all he can think is, <em>Drax called me a rodent, he called me a fucking rodent and Gamora called me a rat and-<em></em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>And he’s so fucking angry.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>He’s so angry and he wants them to pay, wants them to understand that he didn’t chose to be like this, that he hates seeing his own reflection far more than they hate looking at him.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>He wants to rip their stupidly perfect teeth out, wants to break their long legs, wants to fucking destroy them, so they can stop looking normal and start looking like <em>him<em>.</em></em></em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Fucked up and wrong.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket hates being so angry, it makes it so he can’t think straight, can’t breath past the fury in his chest, it blinds out everything around him, only his hands making sense, only the pain of soldering without gloves, only the thought that they’d pay, they’d pay for being so fucking perfect, they’d fucking-</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>They-</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>His friends<em>.</em></em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket looks at the thing, completed now, boxy, with wires sticking out and a power source on the back, his fingers are so close to pressing the button.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Friends.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He could just… set it off, take the escape pod and run and they’d be blown to bits, no hope of stitching that shit together.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He and Groot could start again, start all over.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He could-</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Why would he want too though?</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket looks at the bomb in his small hands and feels like his chest is gonna cave in.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Did he really almost just blow his friends up? Was he… was he that fucked up?</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket could feel tears starting in his eyes, the memory of being in a lab, of them poking and prodding him, asking if he was angry, asking if he was sad, asking if he could feel <em>anything<em> at all.</em></em></em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Yeah, he could feel it.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>He felt everything, he just wasn’t sure he always felt the <em>right<em> thing.</em></em></em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Cus right now, he’d just… he’d thought he wanted to kill em, to end them in one fiery blaze that would spread their blood and bone through the dark sky of space.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Rocket was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to do that to people you loved.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>But he’s sitting here, with a bomb in his lap, and he built it, and he’d do it, and yeah, that was kind of fucked up.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Rocket scotched the bomb onto the ground, stared at it.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>His breathing was off.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>They’d say hyperventilating, fancy fucking lab coats, using big words to make him feel small, he hated em, he hated em so fucking much.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>He’d blow them up if he could.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>But they aren’t here.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>His friends <em>are<em>.</em></em></em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>And they’re sleeping.</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>It’s against the rules to kill your sleeping teammates<em>, Rockets mind provided, sluggish from panic and lack of sleep.</em></em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Rocket takes the power source out, looking at the battery, then sighing.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>You don’t kill your teammates at all.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Cus they’re friends, they won’t hurt ya, s’just a nightmare that fucked you up, not them, never them.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Rocket disassembles the bomb slowly, using that time to calm down, and by the time he’s almost done, the suns coming up in the view-port and he can hear Gamora going through her morning workout, Drax stumbles past a minute later.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>He’s not going to get more sleep, which means he’s gonna be crabby, but when isn’t he crabby is the real question?</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Rocket shoves the last part back to it’s normal place when Peter comes out.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>His hairs messed up and he doesn’t look like he slept either, they spare a nod at each other and Rocket wonders if his own nightmares are so obvious.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>He wonders what keeps Quill up at night.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>He wonders… is this what it’s like to have friends? Worrying about em?</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Rocket’s never had to worry about Groot, the twig has always been honest and steadfast, even as a kid he’s not a liar, it just ain’t in his DNA.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>But humies… god, humies lie all the damn time, and Gamora is as much an enigma, Drax is… again, Drax is <em>Drax<em>, so you never really know what he’ll take offense too.</em></em></em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>
                                  <em>
                                    <em>Rocket eats frozen Groattes for breakfast, crunching on the bready things and wishing they had some fucking sauce to go with, cus they were dry as Conjuction in summer.</em>
                                  </em>
                                </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>
                                  <em>
                                    <em>And if he’s being nice to Peter, it certainly isn’t cus’a the bags under his eyes, or the fact that he’s being more quiet.</em>
                                  </em>
                                </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>
                                  <em>
                                    <em>It’s definitely not because he feels bad for almost blowing them up.</em>
                                  </em>
                                </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>
                                  <em>
                                    <em>Not at all.</em>
                                  </em>
                                </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>
                                  <em>
                                    <em>He’s just… he’s just trying to be a friend, is all.</em>
                                  </em>
                                </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>
                                  <em>
                                    <em>When Peter smiles at him, genuine and tired, Rocket thinks he might just be succeeding.</em>
                                  </em>
                                </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Missing pieces of the puzzle.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is kind of dark? I mean, I don't think it's that dark, but it does talk about past abuse, both physical and mental, so read at your own caution, but it's not particularly graphic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was just supposed to be another joke.</p>
<p>Rocket’s nose had wrinkled the second Peter came out of the bathroom, an age old argument starting up again, but just a bit more pointed than normal “Jesus Quill, stop wearing so much cologne, it’ll sink into your skin and then we won’t even be able to eat you when the ship fails cus of how rank that shit is.”</p>
<p>Maybe if Peter hadn’t just had a nightmare about getting eaten alive, he would have laughed it off.</p>
<p>But Rocket’s words were just a tad too harsh.</p>
<p>And Peter couldn’t find it in himself to check if his companion was joking, because his heart was beating too fast and he could feel sweat starting on his brow.</p>
<p>Gamoras hand lands on his shoulder “Peter?”</p>
<p>“<em>Come on, Peter, come outta the vents, heat’ll cook ya in there, but ya won’t be as tasty as ya would be in a stew, so save us both the pain and get your ass in gear ‘fore I make my arrow go through ya brain<em>...”</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter jerked away from her, shoulders hunching in, the world narrowing to how warm it was, how horrendously warm and awful and they’re staring at him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>They’re all staring at him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>What, are they hungry now? Is that it, the end?</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter runs.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It’s a small ship, Gamora could probably outstretch him on an open plain, but Peter knows every divot and crack in the floor and walls, so he bounces around and off and then he’s thankfully, blissfully alone in the bathroom.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The locks clicks into place, Peter taps the override in, then he sinks to the ground.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The metal floor sticks grossly to his sweaty skin and he strips out of his coat, trying to breath and not pass out, because they’d surely try to eat him if he passed out.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>They were upset that he put on cologne, they were fucking upset they couldn’t eat him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Jesus, Jesus they were gonna kill him once he got out.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>No, worse, they’d keep him alive and eat him while he was still kicking and screaming like Marnor and Tev did.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter whimpered, pulling his arms up over his head, not caring that he smelled sweaty.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to get eaten, oh god.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>They were gonna… there was only so long before they broke in and…</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The thoughts were hard to hold onto, each on slipping past with frantic terror, bringing a spike of heat and pain to his chest.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>They would…</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>They wanted to eat him, they wanted…</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The world blinked from a dizzy, heat filled bathroom, to something infinitely cooler.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The sweet embrace of unconsciousness and metal floors.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>***</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter blinked up at the ceiling.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>There was a pounding in his ears, whether that was from the door or from his own heart, he couldn’t really tell.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Maybe both.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter tried to take stock of everything.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>They’d ran out of-no, no they hadn’t run out of food, had he pissed them off? He thinks he did upset them, because now that he was waking up, he could tell the pounding was definitely from the door.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He can hear their voices but it’s muffled through the door and his heartbeat.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Breathing feels like sucking air through a straw to fill a plastic bag, and really, it’s an awful feeling because none of it is working.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter squeezes his eyes shut and feels more tears leak out.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>There was a scuffle next to him.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter jerked, eyes darting over to stare at the noise.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket was standing there, paws held out “Pete, don’t freak out, it’s okay.” his voice sounded weird from across the room, tinny.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter still tensed, eyes falling to the open vent shaft, breath picking up and making his voice shake slightly “Have you come to eat me?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket drew back, arms coming up to his chest, his face upset “What? No, that was a <em>joke<em>.”</em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“It isn’t a joke, not really.” Peter panted, his arms starting to tingle because he was breathing too fast and the blood wasn’t pumping “When you guys run out of food, i’m first.” </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket didn’t move from where he was, but his face registered shock then horror “Pete, that ain’t true, we would never actually eat you, we were just being dicks cus it’s fun, but it… we’d never do that.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter shook his head, fingers squeezing into his knees, holding them in place, protecting his stomach, plastic bag, straw, not enough breath to sound anything other than terrified “If you got really hungry-”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Then we’d starve, but we ain’t eating one another, I promise.” Rocket cut him off, stepping closer.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter stayed still for a second, then he peeked out at him “Really?”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket smiled, just a tiny sad little thing, then he held out his hand “Yeah, now come on.” he jerked his head towards the door “They’re worried sick, think ya got some kind of space bug that caused you to act weird.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Peter took the proffered hand, even if it didn’t really help him get to his feet, it did help with the shaking “Space bug?” he murmured after a second, smiling.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Rocket sighed “Yeah, that was <em>Draxs<em> theory, but we didn’t really have a better one, so we went with it.” he shrugged, typing in the code to unlock the door.</em></em></em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“Huh.” Peter grunted, most of Draxs theories included wither bugs, espionage, or murder.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Sure enough, as soon as the door was open, the other three Guardians came into view.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter was half tempted to duck back into the bathroom and not come out, but no one was giving him hungry looks, or baring their teeth, or trying to advance on him, so he decided it would be okay, even if he was stressed.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket glared at them “Some room to breath would be nice, great wall of jackass.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>The three split, Groot coming up to grab onto Rocket and climb his back, like some kind of strange tree monkey.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter shuffled past the rest of them, head ducking low.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket grumbled, making his way to the kitchen and climbing onto the counter to brew up a fresh pot of Mog, they’d all need the comforting bitterness to deal with this shit.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Even Groot had a tiny little mug.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter was remarkably silent the entire time, sitting at the table with his hands folded over his lap.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rocket shoved a mug into his face, waiting until Peter looked at him to say “Go on, it’s fine.” with a slight nod to the others.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter stared down into the thick purple drink “I don’t like the jokes about eating me.” he blurted after everyone staring at him got to be too much “Back on the Ravagers ship, it happened a lot and I couldn’t always tell if they were joking, so I hide in the vents a lot, or Kraglin would stay with me in case people tried shit, but it still scares the shit out of me when someone says it.” he explained.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“That’s sucky.” Rocket says with a grimace, he’d known it was something like that, but still, jeez, not a great childhood.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Drax was frowning heartily “Why would they eat you? Surely they would want a fatter specimen? They have said themselves that you are skinny?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“Cus like, I was young and a rare species and they thought it would be fun to try a taste, so they used to chase me around.” Peter rambled, not looking anyone in the eye “Only safe place was the vents.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Gamora set a hand on his shoulder, her brows drawn together “Stars, that’s wrong, Peter, that’s… that's abuse.” she breathed the words out, horrified.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Peter scratched at his neck “I mean, they never actually… like… <em>killed<em> me while trying to eat me.” he mumbled.</em></em></em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>The ships beeps, a monotone chime that breaks the sudden silence.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Peter presses a couple buttons, trying to ignore the uncomfortably long moment.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rocket was trying to comprehend all of this, the sudden vulnerability that Peter exposed, his fears, his attempt to diminish of their abuse and-</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Wait.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He’d said-</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>“Wait, wait, Peter… did they <em>actually<em> try to eat ya?” Rocket asks, and for once, there's no snark in his voice, it’s gone dark and cold, like he’s scared, cus he <em>is<em>.</em></em></em></em></em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Peter shrugs and he puts on a smile and it looks so wrong, so fucking wrong “I mean, like-technically a couple of them did try.” his words sound weird, distant “But Kraglin stopped them, and uh-”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Rocket can’t keep the words in, panicked disbelief in him “They tried to eat you?!”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Peter flinched at his shout, hunching a little as he pressed more buttons, jaw tight, trying to cover up his nerves “I pissed them off.”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“Peter, Jesus, no this ain’t-it’s not… that's not something people should do when they’re pissed, I know i’m not a sparkling example of anger management, but like… even <em>I<em> know that.” Rocket groaned in despair, pulling at his fur.</em></em></em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>Drax steps forward, one heavy hand landing on Peter’s shoulder, his blue eyes focused “Did they hurt you?”</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>Peter shrugs it off, his face ducked and pale “I mean, they only got a couple bites out.”</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>Rocket swears his heart beats wrong for a second and he almost throws up “Bites!?”</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>Peter throws up his hands “Jesus, stop shouting!”</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>“Says Peter, <em>shouting<em>.” Rocket snorts, the sarcasm is back, but then his eyes soften a little as they rove over him “Can we see?”</em></em></em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Peter looks around at them, his cheeks red, then he stands up “Fine, but just-just drop it after this, okay?”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>He lifts up his pant leg.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Gonna be hard to drop it when there are literal scarred chunks missing from his leg, jagged teeth marks at the edges of the wounds, pale scar tissue stretched over the missing flesh.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Rockets hand twitched.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>The urge to grab a gun an shoot some fuckers almost overtaking him, the other urge, the one that said to reach out, to touch the injury, was shoved aside as well.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Wouldn’t help no one.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Gamora was the one who moved, gently grabbing Peter’s hand, his pant leg fell back down over the scars “I am sorry they were so cruel to you.” she murmurs.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>“It was kind of a joke.” Peter tried to play it off, clearly uncomfortable with all of this.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>“What?” Gamora frowned, not seeing the humor in threatening death.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Peter shifted, looking away for a moment before murmuring “Eating me, I think ya heard Yondu say it?” he saw her nod and he swallowed “It was a joke with the Ravagers, and um, these guys just took it too far, but it’s okay.”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>“No, it isn’t.” Gamora said, soft, pulling him into a hug, and it was unfair to Rocket that she could just turn off the murder-y thing like that, go all sweet and kind, he couldn’t, god knows he’d tried once or twice.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>If he tried to hug Quill, he’d probably end up biting him.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Which just makes Rocket groan, because he did bite him, he sunk his teeth into Peter’s hand and he’d probably scared the shit out of him.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>He can just see the scar on Peter’s hand where it is resting on Gamoras back.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Little dots, one of which had needed stitches.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Rocket feels the guilt swell in him, but its easier to be angry, so he goes with that instead “I should tear their fucking teeth out and shove them up their-”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>“They’re already dead.” Peter said quickly, feet scuffing the ground “Kraglin airlocked them.”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>“Oh.” Rocket took a second to rein in the disappointment, killing them wouldn’t have really fixed anything, but it might have lessened the guilt a little “Well, anyone tries that again, you let me deal with them.”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Peter smiles and it’s wide and happy, like he can’t believe he’s got a friend like Rocket, which only serves to make him feel worse “Thanks!”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Drax nods “The gun manic is right, anyone who touches you will feel my wrath.”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Gamora cups Peters cheeks, and her smile is amused, but with that underlying seriousness that usually only comes out in life or death situations “They’re trying to say they love you, but honestly, same, if anyone dares to hurt you again, they will soon be without their head.”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Drax nods approvingly “We can hang it in the kitchen.”</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>“Okay, that’s… <em>sweet<em>, but no heads in the kitchen.” Peter says, looking a bit green as he scratches at his beard, then he squints “Actually, no heads on the <em>Milano<em> at all, okay?” he decides.</em></em></em></em></em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>
                                  <em>
                                    <em>
                                      <em>
                                        <em>“You Terran’s and your weird hold ups.” Rocket snorts, then he nudges Draxs leg “We can take a photo and hang that in the kitchen, okay big guy?”</em>
                                      </em>
                                    </em>
                                  </em>
                                </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>
                                  <em>
                                    <em>
                                      <em>
                                        <em>Drax smiles, it looks more terrifying than happy, too many visible teeth and his brows too low, still, it was supposed to be a smile, so no one dared tell him it was scary.</em>
                                      </em>
                                    </em>
                                  </em>
                                </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>
                                  <em>
                                    <em>
                                      <em>
                                        <em>Peter groans “That’s not helpful!”</em>
                                      </em>
                                    </em>
                                  </em>
                                </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
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                                      <em>
                                        <em>“Neither is not telling us shit.” Rocket says sharply, then wonders if that makes any sense, so he adds “You’ve been stocking us full of food that half of us don’t even like, cus you’re scared, so tell us, alright? Like with me and Medical shit, actually talk to us about it.”</em>
                                      </em>
                                    </em>
                                  </em>
                                </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
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                                        <em>Peter looks properly chastised, looking away “Ah, yeah.” he rubs at his neck “I guess… I just kind of forget, when i’m doing this shit, that it’s not normal.”</em>
                                      </em>
                                    </em>
                                  </em>
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                                        <em>“It shouldn’t have been.” Rocket tells him, then reaches out, because he’s trying to be a good friend, he really is, he pats Peter’s knee “No one deserves to live in fear like that, so when ya get scared, tell us?”</em>
                                      </em>
                                    </em>
                                  </em>
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                                      <em>
                                        <em>“Okay.” Peter said easily, then added “I can… I can do that.”</em>
                                      </em>
                                    </em>
                                  </em>
                                </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
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                                      <em>
                                        <em>Gamora kisses Peter’s cheek, smiling “That’s all we ask.”</em>
                                      </em>
                                    </em>
                                  </em>
                                </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
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                                      <em>
                                        <em>Rocket rolled his eyes at that mushy shit, but he smiles a little, silently glad he’s not the only one trying to fix Peter up.</em>
                                      </em>
                                    </em>
                                  </em>
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                                        <em>They’ll do their part, Peter just has to do his.</em>
                                      </em>
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  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Nebula joins the party.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry if this seems kind of disjointed? I tried writing it a couple times and the second part came more naturally to me, but the first part still feels a bit clunky :/</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nebula joins their group partway through a mission on Kitson.</p>
<p>It should have been more alarming to have an assassin just appear and start fighting with them, but their lives had gotten far weirder than that since they met, and besides, she’d made peace with Gamora, they both had.</p>
<p>Nebula falls into step beside Gamora and suddenly they are six members strong, it’s appreciated to have the extra fire in their fight.</p>
<p>Also, lets be honest, Rocket is just glad Gamora is gonna stop spending all her funds sending rare fruits to her sister, because it was getting tiring and expensive.</p>
<p>The battle goes well, it’s a hired mission, rescuing a political prisoner from a third world planet where they had “Pissed off the locals” which was fancy talk for being an offensive idiot and getting in too deep.</p>
<p>Nebula scoffs when she sees the prisoner, a Xandarian who pissed himself in fear when he saw her and her metal arm.</p>
<p>Peter just shakes his head and un-cuffs the dude “Your government has bought your freedom, congratulations, now keep up, if you get shot, that's your problem.”</p>
<p>The man splutters, going red “Weren’t you hired to rescue me?”</p>
<p>Peter turned his mask back on, scanning with his red eyes “Hmm, from the enemy, not from your own stupidity, so stay close to me and don’t slow us down.” he growled.</p>
<p>The prisoner meeped.</p>
<p>Nebula snorted, pulling her gun up again and clearing the way for him to come through, murmuring something about her sister “Having poor taste.”</p>
<p>All in all, the mission was a success.</p>
<p>Even if it was strange.</p>
<p>And Groot might have let out a dramatic gasp when he saw her, but Nebula simply pulled a fruit out of her pocket and gave it to the child.</p>
<p>Groot didn’t protest after that, happily eating it and bopping along to an unsung tune.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>They didn’t actually talk about Nebula coming with them for the first two hours after they’d dropped off their ‘political prisoner’ because Gamora pulled a “Don’t ask.”</p>
<p>So now they’re all not talking about it, but Peter and Rocket are having rather pointed eyebrow raises.</p>
<p>Rocket takes to humming roo, because jesus, this is just really fucking weird having Nebula here without <em>anyone<em> talking.</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It wasn’t until Gamora left that the silence was broken.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>By Nebula, no less, her metallic words echoing over them “You know I won’t kill you guys if you speak.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter let out a sharp exhale “Whoo, okay, yeah, no um, this is really weird.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yes it is.” Nebula agreed, her dark eyes roving over them, arms crossed “I assume then, that you are not speaking because of me.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter turned in his chair, grinning nervously “It’s just… we have this thing.” he waved his hands as if to indicate the invisible agreement “That if one of us says ‘Don’t ask’ then we don’t ask, but uh… I have like… a load of questions, so i’m just keeping my thoughts to myself.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Several laundry loads worth of questions.” Rocket mumbled.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“That’s a stupid rule.” Nebula frowned, looking around at all of them with mild disgust “It would be cast away immediately in disaster times.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yeah, but like… it’s not always disaster times, so we have boundaries.” Peter mumbled.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Nebula raised an eyebrow “Like?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket spun his chair “No killing each other, no destroying each others things, and no asking if someone says not too.” he listed, ticking off his fingers.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Nebula looked sorely unimpressed “Those are the rules of basic interaction.” she drawled electronically, her lips twitching up slightly despite that “Do you honestly have to have that spelled out for you?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“We’re a weird bunch, okay.” Rocket grinned.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Nebula gives him a piercing stare, then looks at the door behind them “And my sister, she applied this ‘don’t ask’ rule?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yeah.” Peter smiled, because he liked that Gamora played along with their rules.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“That’s stupid.” Nebula grunted, then leaned back in the chair, regarding them “Ask me what you like, I would rather know your qualms then have to guess them.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket nodded, putting the ship on stand by flying “Okay, so, you ain’t with Thanos anymore, right?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“No.” Nebula said shortly “I never was, but I did not see an easy escape.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“So, you’re staying with us because you… want too?” Peter asked tentatively, giving her a nervous look.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Nebula didn’t seem to care about his nervousness, nodding “Yes and because my sister is here.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket gave her a side glance “You want to be closer to her?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“That is all I ever wanted.” Nebula growled, a mix of bitterness and hope in her voice “I never wished to be a fighter, or to be pulled apart, Thanos caused that and he will pay for his crimes.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Still on a vengeance quest then?” Rocket mumbled.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Nebula settled lower in the chair “In a way.” she seemed reluctant to talk about this one thing “I know you will one day turn your sights to him, and I would rather fight with my sister and her dumb-asses, then fight alone.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Hey, watch who you’re calling a dumbass, I got a genius level IQ.” Rocket threw a spare bolt he’d found on the dashboard at her.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Nebula ducked it perfectly, then cocked her head, looking at him with squinted black eyes full of curiosity “Artificial intelligence or implanted brain?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket sneered at her, he hated thinking of that shit “Neither, experiments that fucked me up and made me sentient and angry, used it to learn, cus what else do I have to do?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Nebula’s brows rose “Fully sentient and intelligent, a rare combination in an experiment.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket bristled “I am not an experiment.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“No, not anymore.” Nebula mused, but her tone was sad “And I guess since I am no longer under Thanos’ control, I am not an experiment either.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket looked at her, feeling the stirrings of pity when he saw the blank look on her face.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It was always the hardest, just after leaving, the uncertainty, the fear, the wish for someone to tell you what to do, how to live.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>No wonder it took her months to show up.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket only knew a bit about what she’d gone through, only pieces from Gamora, but it was enough to know that the first thirty years of Nebula’s life, had not been kind to her.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>For her to take this leap and come to them, ulterior motives or not, it was a leap.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He wanted to say something.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>But Peter jerked his chair back to face the view port, back stiff “Shh, ‘Mora’s coming back.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Everyone stiffly went back to staring out the window at passing stars, except for Nebula who didn’t bother to do anything differently.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora sauntered back into cabin, her eyes narrowed, inspecting them all “I trust you are being nice to my sister.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Of course!” Peter grinned wildly.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Nebula turned to glare at her “Gamora, you do not need to coddle me, their words could not hurt me even if they tried.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora crossed her arms, shoulders suddenly tense at being called out “I never coddled you before, what makes you think I am starting now?” she growled, disapproval seeping from her every word.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“The fact that you pulled a rule on them, so they wouldn’t scare me off.” Nebula sneered.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora’s eyes widened “That wasn’t-”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I appreciate the concern.” Nebula told her, in a tone that said she most definitely did not appreciate it “But it will only affect your relationship with these three dumb-asses... and one genius.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket grinned at that.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yeah, and also, we’re not going to freak your sister, out, we just wanted to ask some questions, and honestly, I think we’re good now.” Peter blurted out, hands thrown up in the air.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora glared at him, but the anger was softened by her affection for him “You broke the rule?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Nebula’s shoulders hunched, lips twitching into a bitter smile “I told them to ask, would you take another choice from me, sister?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora froze, eyes wide and horrified, then she ducked her head “No, I would not, Nebula, you know this.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Good.” Nebula said, cutting off her intense stare to look at the others “Now, where will I be sleeping?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket spun the chair around, eyes bright “Well, we have a storage cupboard-” Gamora cuffed his ear, he winced “Ow! Okay, jeez, theres a spare room, third on the right, it’s a bit drafty so no one took it.” he grumbled.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Nebula stood, wandering off to the offered room “The cold will not bother me, my skin only makes up 19% of my surface.” she muttered over her shoulder.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket waved the blue assassin away “Okay, good for you.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora watched her walk away, shoulders slumping “I don’t understand her, or how to be a good sister, apparently.” she sighed despairingly.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter reached out, taking her hand “It’s alright ‘Mora, she’s just adjusting to us, it takes time.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Gamora stared at him for a moment, a small smile playing at her lips “You don’t seem too worried about her living here…?”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter smiled “She might kill us in our sleep, but we all took that risk when he agreed to live together, we can only trust that she won’t.” he shrugged.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“Besides, she’s mean, I like her.” Rocket grinned.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Peter sent him a joking glare, lips pulling into a frown “You just like her cus she called you a genius.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Rocket puffed out his chest “Rightly so.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Perhaps, having Nebula here wouldn’t be such a hard adjustment for them after all.</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Berhert and the flying lights.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is like the only chapter I wrote in Groots perspective, not sure how good it actually turned out, but I wanted to give his perspective a try, so this is what I came up with!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The four moons glowed above Groot, like smiling faces in the sky.</p>
<p>It lent a gentle glow to the forest and the tall trees, so much like his own home planet that it sent pangs of sadness through him.</p>
<p>The others did not notice, he did not want them too.</p>
<p>When they slept, he wandered the trees, reaching out tendrils to touch the trees, murmuring to them, just in the off chance one would speak back.</p>
<p>They never did.</p>
<p>But Groot did not mind, he held onto his childish hope, because he was a child at the moment and it wouldn’t hurt anyone.</p>
<p>The trees whistled in the wind, releasing a song of their own.</p>
<p>It wasn’t one that Groot knew the words too, but he could make do, humming along to the leaves in the breeze.</p>
<p>Each tree had its own way of singing, some high in the air, creaking massive trunks that sway in the wind, some low, their leaves rustling with creatures and life.</p>
<p>It’s a safe planet, few natural predators to stalk the dark.</p>
<p>Groot leans against a tree, presses his face to the rough bark, it smells like oak and spice and he knows from experience that this genus is common around the Galaxy, travelers brought it because it produced nuts in cold weather.</p>
<p>It was interesting, how much of the “natural” flora of the Galaxy was actually brought there by colonizing forces, how many trees had found their way across the universe because of other species.</p>
<p>There was a buzzing sound.</p>
<p>Groot froze, unsure if it was something dangerous, he was still just a sprint away from the Milano, but he didn’t like the idea of having to run back.</p>
<p>He shouldn’t have worried.</p>
<p>Little lights fly off the bark of the trees, floating into the sky and Groot jumps to his feet, spinning and smiling at the brightness “I am Groot!”</p>
<p>Light flies! Light flies like on Planet X.</p>
<p>Like <em>home<em>.</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Groots smile stretched so wide his face creaked.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It had been so long since he’d seen natural ones, not just his own root made copies, they were magical.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The light flies danced across the midnight sky and it all just seemed so right.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Groot swirled in the moonbeams, reaching for the flies, when he’d been a sapling, back home, his mother had lifted him to the air, let him catch one in a leafy grasp, the little thing buzzing and glowing in his hand.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He let his hand open watching the bug wander around his hand before flying away.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It disappeared into the sky.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>This place felt like home, but it was not home.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>His home world, if only… if only Groot had been able to bring them back, if he’d been able to save them...</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>If he’d just...</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Groot shoved his hands against his sides, feeling a wash of emotion he could only label as guilt.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>The feeling was intense, bringing tears to his eyes and making his leaves shake in anguish, even though he was small, he knew that his species relied on him, knew that he was in charge of saving them.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Knew that everyday he didn’t work towards bringing them back, was a day he failed them.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Groot sniffled, wiping at his eyes.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He was too young, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, he had the world pod in his chest, but how could he even begin to try and save his people?</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He couldn’t.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Not as he was right now.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Groot shook his head, taking a deep breath, he’d tell Rocket, he would know what to say, what to do, he always did when things like this came up.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Sometimes he tried to remember all of their lives together, because he knows they used to travel, when he was big, he knows that there was a reason he didn’t bring his planet back, but he can’t really remember it all.</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Just that Rocket was his friend, <em>family<em> really.</em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Groot wonders if Rocket misses who the Flora Colussus used to be, he knows that if given the choice, he’d choose to grow big again.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>It was scary being small sometimes, people looked at him and saw something they could pocket, something they could steal.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>He’d seen video of himself on Xandar, the older him, tall and intimidating, yet kind.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Groot had also seen how Rocket looked at him, the flash of teeth and the easy curses, the way the raccoon climbed up his back and shoot off rounds from his shoulder.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>They’d been a team.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Now he was a kid, and Rocket was his… not his dad, but still family, like a grumpy older brother.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Groot remembers the other time he was little, he thinks that his brain wants to access those memories, wants him to remember home.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>But there's still a block, grief that doesn’t feel entirely his.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>He’s… new, a new Groot, but he’s also the old Groot and sometimes that’s hard to reconcile.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>A light fly landed on his leaf, bringing him from his revelry, Groot stared in wide eyed wonder, his momentary sadness forgotten “I am Groot?” he whispered.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>It did not understand him either, but that was okay, he didn’t need it too.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>A second later the bug flew off, trailing it’s light through the canopy before it rejoined it’s swarm, their magical murmuration continuing without a hitch.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Groot sat down on a rock, watching them.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>It didn’t matter that this wasn’t his home, it didn’t matter that these weren’t really the light flies he knew from before, it didn’t matter that one too many moons hung in the sky.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>It was good enough for a the time being.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>The trees sang and Groot sings with them, swaying, his leaves whistling.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>It’s getting a bit cold to be out here, a bit windy.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>There were no dead trunks and rotting roots, this was a living planet, a wonderful place to visit, to feel comfortable.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Groot hoped they could return sometimes, just so he could be with such tall and pleasant trees again.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Four moons hang in the sky.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>This is not his home and that was okay.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>His home was metal, orange and blue, pieced together from cosmic junk and the firm believe that it would indeed fly, despite being taken apart too many times to count.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Groot turned, looking back at the Milano, a little grin taking over his face.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Yes, one day his planet would come back and his people would live again.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>But right now, in this moment, the ache inside of him is dulled, because he is not alone in the Galaxy.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>He has a home, he has a family.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>They are Groot.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
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